Night Of The Beast (32 page)

Vargas pressed his lips to Robert's cold, hairy skin and felt a tiny piece of his soul vanish. Jason dropped filthy trousers, exposed his own cheeks. "Now me, pig," he said. The voice, as heard by Vargas, was awesome and irresistible — one being with many tongues. He kissed Jason's unwashed ass with a feeling close to sexual passion.

More laughter. Vargas cupped his ears, closed his eyes and trembled. The voice came from within his own brain:
You are mine, now. Obey me, and you shall be rewarded beyond measure. Fail me, and you burn alive forever.

Vargas felt a hand touch his smeared forehead. He looked up into a hideous birthmark and two glaring eyes, only inches away.

"Feed him," Jason said. "Help him grow. Tonight, at the exact moment chosen, you will kill for him again. But only upon my order."

The warlock grabbed Vargas by the shoulders. His grip was astonishingly powerful for someone his size. "And we shall free him!"

Vargas, twitching, squealed for joy. "Free him? Free The Beast?"

"Yes!"

The gnarled little form curled, blackened like ash and tucked inward; dissolved into minuscule particles and winked out. Vargas, his senses bombarded, fell to the floor in a dead faint.

He slept in Hell... Then found himself roaring down the black highway, high beams on, radio blasting, driving a car he'd never seen before. He was fully dressed and feeling normal, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. He half believed he'd imagined the entire experience. It was only when he noticed the blood caked beneath his fingernails that he began to accept the reality of the bargain he'd just struck.

Vargas was brimming over, filled with a tremendous sense of purpose. The dream had come true. His life had meaning. Wild. Even all spaced out like this, somehow he just knew what he was supposed to do. No sweat, no strain, no pressure. It was almost like flying on autopilot.

Vargas chuckled and licked his lips
. Now the coming storm, when chaos will be born, and I am called to do murder for the master.

Hiram Polson moved slowly, carefully balancing the tray with one hand. He carried it across the shadowy hotel kitchen and nudged the door open with his foot.
The night's barely begun, and yet it already feels so bitter and cold.

Hi was terribly worried about his wife. Louise had taken to reading the Bible again, right out of the blue, for the first time in years. That was all fine and dandy, but not from dawn till dusk. She never left their hotel anymore. Her faith had become an obsession. Too much of a good thing. But what was he supposed to do, complain?

He assumed a cheerful attitude and entered the bedroom. Louise barely noticed. Hiram lowered the tray of food and placed it on the table near her bed. He shuffled his feet, cleared his throat.

"Lou?"

"We have to go," she said. "We have to get away from here."

Caught totally by surprise, Hiram sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't understand."

"It's cold," Louise said, like that would explain everything. "I'm always cold of late. Something is wrong, Hi. I can feel it. I have seen things."

He spread his arms wide. "Lou, something is always wrong someplace."

She grabbed his hand. "Listen," she said, "I've never been so certain of anything in my entire life. There is a wickedness in Two Trees, something that is an abomination unto God. We have to run, before it's too late."

Hiram held her close. Her entire body was trembling.

"Anything you say, Louise," he whispered. "We'll go, if that's what you want. Right now, tonight."

She locked eyes with him. "You feel it too," she said. "I know you do."

"I'm sick of this hotel, that's all."

"No, that's not all. Don't start fibbing to me this late in the game, Hiram Polson. You're scared."

He looked away. "Yes."

Louise nodded. "So am I. Scared to death, so scared I'm like snow and ice inside. Do you remember when you said God wasn't talking?"

"Sure. You figured that maybe we just weren't listening."

"Let's listen this time, Hi."

It was easy, really. They watched the beginning of the gorgeous sunset together, and then went inside the house. Bert used his key ring to open the glass cabinet. The two shotguns were perfectly matched, gold-plated and engraved. They sparkled, strangely beautiful in the fading sunlight. Bert slid shells into each weapon. He handed one to Candace.

She smiled.

They had agreed on a count of five. It was actually six beats, for each paused briefly and took one last, loving look before pulling the trigger.

Then they blew each other to pieces.

Rourke opened the door. A bolt of lightening ripped through the fabric of the evening sky to fling a white trident at the far horizon.

Monday jumped outside, barking furiously. Peter and Maggie watched as the shepherd tore straight up the steep slope and through the tangled undergrowth like a greyhound in a money race. The woods were painted with the colors of the sunset, but shadows were starting to spread.

"He's liable to run right into a tree," she said. "The mutt's not even watching where he's going."

"No chance. He knows every twig and rock around here."

Maggie was looking at the cabin, her eyes wide and reflecting her appreciation. She hugged Peter's arm. The green of the trees seemed to be melting down into the stained redwood slats and curtained windows.

"You're right. It's beautiful."

They slid out of the car together. "I'm glad you like it, princess."

Rourke led her up onto the porch. They leaned against the railing for a moment, enjoying the last of the sunset. Rourke had decided to continue to act as if nothing was wrong.

"Let's go in," he said. "Before it gets too cold."

It took an effort for Maggie to tear her eyes away from the sun sight of the setting on the flowing, green forest. She seemed enchanted, despite the rumble of approaching thunder. Rourke felt a rush of affection welling up inside.
Good
, he thought
. I need for you to love this place.

He turned on the lights and walked her through the cabin, jabbering like a lonely little boy. "It's all redwood outside and along the walls. I love those beams in the ceiling, don't you? Jeremy and I painted the kitchen ourselves. I chose yellow enamel. He hated it until we were through, but it makes the whole place a bit brighter, don't you think?"

He realized what he was doing and ground to a halt, embarrassed. Maggie grinned.

"Absolutely," she said. "Much brighter."

Rourke ran his hands along the top of the old upright piano. "I wrote my first song on this. The keys stick and it's sadly out of tune, but it has a spirit all its own. I'll play it until it falls apart."

Tour completed, they sat near the fireplace waiting for fresh coffee to perk in the kitchen. Maggie tucked her legs under, yoga-fashion. The remaining sliver of sun bothered her a bit, so Peter closed one of the curtains. They listened to the distant thunder and they talked… half in shadow, half in light, like two squares on a chessboard.

"It's about time it was your turn," he said. "Tell me in detail, what's a Maggie Moore? The suspense is killing me."

"It's killing me, too."

"You played tennis, right? Let's start there."

"I tried to play. My problem was a lack of motivation. It takes a lot of drive to be a professional, Pete. I guess I always knew I didn't want it badly enough. You keep going through the motions anyhow, unless you've got a second dream. But losing always hurts, especially when it's in front of an audience."

He winked. "Me, I'm lucky. When I bare my soul, I generally get a few takes and time to re-mix. On top of that, I'm seldom around to get rejected in person. The bands do that for me."

Maggie didn't laugh.

"It got depressing," she murmured. "You know how it is. You said you used drugs."

"Used to, yeah."

"Well... I went a little crazy for a while. Did some major partying. Naturally, that only made things worse. It wasn't long before I could barely play. Michael snapped me out of it. He gave me some money and got me headed in the right direction."

"He sounds like a pretty good brother."

"Funny, we weren't that close when we were children. But once I stuck up for him during that casino robbery...Look, Michael is a bit reckless and very stubborn. He's a tough cookie, never mind how he looks. He's always had some rough edges, and lately he's seemed even more distant than usual."

"Life give him a few kicks in the teeth? He's pretty wound up."

Maggie nodded. "Oh, yeah. Listen, when he first got out of the service I thought he'd gone a little crazy. It changed something inside of him, maybe forever." She sighed. "But then we've all changed, haven't we?"

"No shit." Pleasant sounds and smells intruded.

"Well, the coffee's ready. Allow me to serve you, my lord and master."

"Sexist."

Maggie uncoiled and walked off, her hips swaying gently. Rourke watched with a good deal of interest until he heard a familiar whine at the front door. He let Monday back inside. The big dog was panting. He pawed at Rourke's leg, then flopped down near the piano for a snooze.

Peter glanced at the sky. "Would you believe it still smells like it's going to rain?"

"Sounds like it, too. Strange for this time of year, isn't it?"

He closed the door. "Yeah. It is. And now Michael is stuck in town without a car."

"That's okay, as long as you think he's safe."

"Like I said last night, he probably is, Maggie," Rourke said, following her into the kitchen. "He hasn't been here long enough to be infected, if that's the right word." Peter put his arm around her waist and nibbled her neck. "But I hope he doesn't mind being by himself."

She poured the coffee into two brown mugs. "Mind? He likes it. Michael comes and goes when he pleases, and he doesn't need to be entertained. He'd probably resent the intrusion if we went to get him. He's very private."

"I'm glad."

Something rumbled in the distant hills. "You're right," Maggie said. "Sounds like the thunder is getting closer."

He took his cup. They sat at the small, round table. "Could be dry. It's been so hot lately, I hope it does rain."

"Dry?"

"Slang. Dry thunder is just noise and a little wind. Maybe a drop of water here and there, but it passes you right by."

"If it does rain, some people are going to be pretty angry."

"You mean because of the second picnic?"

"Isn't that what passes for a big holiday in these parts, a second picnic?"

"I guess so, but those folks won't mind. They're too salty to get all puffed up over a little thing like a picnic."

Rourke felt his soul go tense.
[…]
His talent stretched to touch something nearby. Again, that peculiar feeling... as if the entity had dissolved into thin air. He shook his head. Maggie took him by the hand.

"Hey," she said. "Are you all right? Were you sensing something?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure what that was. I couldn't scan anything more than a force of some kind. It was even more powerful than in town, for some reason."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

Thunder, closer now. They both flinched as windows rattled in their frames. Monday barked defiantly from his haven near the keyboard. "Settle down, hero," Rourke called. The dog turned in a circle and resumed his nap.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really afraid."

"I am too, Maggie."

"You've stopped talking about this — whatever it is. The danger. That bothers me, and so does the way you try to pretend it hardly ever crosses your mind. What's really going on?"

"I'm probing," he admitted. "Reaching out, trying to find out where it's coming from. Not that I'll know what the hell to do if I find it."

"It might find you first, right?"

"I won't lie, Maggie. It could."

She went a little pale. "And you're still convinced that it would single you out?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He tried to explain. "It must have a vulnerable area, some kind of a weak spot. And since I am probably the person most likely to find that weakness, I'm a threat."

"What if it did come after you? Could you protect yourself?"

"Probably. Maybe. I'm not in a hurry to find out."

She crossed her arms for warmth. "Maybe you can still avoid trouble. Maybe just refuse to fight."

Rourke did not respond. He was certain he'd have no choice. If he didn't face it, and soon, it might be too late. Lying, he said: "Could be. Who knows."

"Damn. Can't we just leave now, get Michael and go?"

"No," he said. He looked down. "Like I said last night, I'm pretty sure it would not allow that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning staying here is the lesser of two evils."

"But how could it stop us?"

Rourke took her hand. "It could stop us in a heartbeat. It's in our minds now, Maggie. It can make us see and experience things. You know what it can do, right? You said you had been feeling it too."

She shuddered. "So what do we do?"

"Tonight? We just live," he said. "We love and try to be happy. Believe it or not, I think that may help."

She sat in silence for a few moments, then brightened a little. "Okay, then. Are you hungry, Mr. Rourke?"

"I am."